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TEST DRIVE MEME 002
⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:
Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. This test drive meme provides a medley of prompts evoking the game's general tone.
THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.
CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: nudity, spiders, character death, and references to children in proximity to sexual situations.
If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.
FAQ ✧ SETTING ✧ CALENDAR ✧ RESERVES ✧ APPLICATIONS
THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.
CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: nudity, spiders, character death, and references to children in proximity to sexual situations.
If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.
IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE
The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest daylight. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the light has taken on a sickly green. You lie amongst the frost-covered mosses and ferns, the frozen soil cold and just a little damp on your bare skin. Wherever you were before this moment, whatever you were doing or wearing, when you awaken in this forest, you find yourself naked and helpless as the day you were born. As you sit up and get your bearings, aside from a brief wave of disoriented nausea, you seem to be no worse for wear than you last remember.
You seem to be alone. The gnarled oaks and moss suggest no sign of civilization or sentient life. Just flickers of movement from curious squirrels or brave lizards emerging from a temporary retreat from the wintry weather. With your feet under you, and you'll find the wood is filled with berry bushes and nut trees, though much of the fruit has been picked clean. The freshwater stream that runs north-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads, is running actively again as the weather warms back up from the recent snowstorm.
As you explore, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist groups, others may still be processing their confusion, with no memory of how they got here. Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty; it's going to be a long hike, and the weather isn't quite amenable to your lack of.
Turn your back to the darker, shadowy parts of the forest and eventually the glow of manmade lights and the curve of a dirt road may come into view. At the edge of the wood, you'll find a town surrounded by a fifty-foot wall of beige stone. The only entrance is an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people inside.
This quaint, historic town of five-thousand has cobbled street and signs lit by gas lamp. Wooden shutters protect otherwise open-air windows on the buildings, which are all under three stories with gabled roofs. A number of businesses hug the main street — a clockmaker, a cobbler, a grocer — while residential homes sprawl outwards towards the wall. At the far end of the main street, visible about a mile to the north now that the trees and the enormous wall is out of the way, sits a castle with three towers.
When you enter, the streets are full of people, but despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, they don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. Those determined to find proper clothing regardless will find that modern clothing stores aren't available — the closest this town has is a tailor's shop and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.
breaking and entering
If you intend to have your character break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry, please review the info about game laws on the FAQ and give the mods a heads up HERE.
Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! Anyone who ask the locals will be directed to the boarding house for both clothes and a place to stay. Accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines, beyond an overgrown yard in the residential sprawl of the town is a bright-red door, which opens to a spacious cottage of several stories. Parts of the house still bear the dust of disuse, gathered on various furnishings — bedding, sofas, curtains, wooden tables. However, it's already full of people! Anyone who's already appeared in the village just as you did today lives here. Once inside, you may notice patchwork repairs have been made, and some scorch marks still linger from a recent fire, and some furniture is still lying around in splinters.
Tonight, a few of the townspeople will help out with the new arrivals. They stock the kitchen and prepare a communal dinner of parsnips, pheasant, and squash. During dinner, they (and those outsiders who've already begun to settle) sit down at the enormous wooden dining room table and help orient the newcomers and answer their questions.
finding roommates
Don't spend too much time in the dining room going for seconds, though. You'll want to claim a bedroom quickly because each one only has two full-size beds, and there aren't enough spaces for everyone. The last people upstairs will need to double up to squeeze in. Roommates will not be mod-assigned; players should coordinate directly with one another to determine their living arrangements.
Get a good night's rest. By the light of day, locals will help get the new arrivals set up on the coal stove with breakfast. You may notice they're dressed in a way you would almost call normal — at least, in a manner befitting 19th century Eastern Europe. As you find your way around town to get your bearings, folks are eager to help you find a place to apply your skills so you can contribute to your new home.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, acquiring clothing or other inventory items, asking questions at dinner/orientation, or staking your claim on a bedroom!
OFFERINGS FOR ULANTI
The festival starts in the middle of the night, when the sun and the children are safely tucked into bed. The streets come alive with dancing locals, their faces painted red and purple and black and yellow. They all wear revealing clothing that, to your sensibilities, may seem sexually suggestive. Some individuals openly expose their breasts and nipples, while some others may incidentally reveal when they turn around to tend to their errands that their dress is backless — entirely! market stands and kind neighbors will gladly provide clothing befitting the occasion to anyone who asks.Notably, the locals' choice of clothes reveal a mark on their bodies. An astute person will notice that there are four varieties — and a very astute (
In addition to dancing and the lighting of any number of candles, you may stumble upon fighting rings inspired by Terry Silver's basement club, where the locals brawl until they're bloody and unable to move. Elsewhere, amongst the performance of a number of erotic dancers, you might come upon a face you recognize — naked and collared and caged, tongue pressed to the bars to taste anyone who'll stop and give them a little attention.
Temporary night market food stands offer various forms of alcoholic beverages and sweet and savory street food in suggestive shapes — sausages, popsicles, flowering cupcakes. many of them represent hedonistic indulgences and displays of wealth that the town usually does not seem to possess. This bounty, they attribute to the Duchess' patronage — and much of it is dosed with herbs and additives that enhance the sexual appetites and aggression in any who consume them.
Another kind of temporary stand has been erected — while new arrivals may at first mistake these for some kind of bathroom, it becomes apparent upon entry that they are partitioned stalls with gloryholes drilled between them. Some stalls are closed with an anonymous stranger waiting inside for someone to push a part of themselves through the hole to be lavished with mystery touches; others are fully unoccupied, should your character wish to lock themselves in and wait on the small wooden stool for a partner to offer themselves.
Anyone native to Rubilykskoye will take the time to answer questions about the festival of Ulanti, which functions as a way to purge their bad energy ("zadza") and sate their inner beasts ("duchozweirz"). They encourage characters to join the festivities — which range from staged sexual performances to sadism and masochism designed to feed the desire for violence. all appetites are welcome here, and there are only two rules: (1) stay away from the unmarked, which refers to the locals' prepubescent children; (2) hold nothing back.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try entering the fighting rings, watching or joining a live sex performance, or eating some aphro food (deliberately or otherwise)!
the fathomless dark of pajak wood
At the outer edges of the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. Though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset, the wood darkens. Birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs. Anyone who ventures out this way will soon find it difficult to see before them, even in the middle of the day — eventually, even the brightest magical light source or darkvision cannot stretch further than a few inches. In the void, the air feels heavy, as if it were not air at all but some more solid mass. Almost like liquid-smoke, it presses down upon you. Slowing your movements. Characters who push too far into the void may stop being able to move at all, and find themselves given over to insanity if they collapse, unable to draw themselves out. This is just one of many dangers.
Monsters thrive this far out. Huge, blood-red spiders the size of hunting dogs drop from the treetops. In addition to their venomous bite, which contains a fast-acting paralytic, these creatures are clever: they attempt to use their webbing to entangle any trespassers, binding limbs together or to trees. If you're unfortunate to become fully cocooned, you don't have long before this forest will be the last thing you see.
In addition to the spiders, you may come across the sharp-toothed furred yetis that emerged during the snowstorm, still looking for a meal. Each one hunts alone, a fifteen-foot-tall shambling creature that drips black ooze and super-chills the air around it until your skin feels tight and icy. If it gets the drop on you, you're likely to be its dinner. It has emerged from a long summer hibernation to enjoy the colder weather, and it's starving.
Those who seem lucky enough not to run afoul of the monsters here are in for a worse fate. The void can play tricks on your senses. As madness sets in and you lose all sense of direction, you may also lose control of your body — what is that steers your hands to turn against your friends? Why does it sound like your own voice whispering?
In the fog, you may also hear the voices of those familiar to you — people you know from the town, or people whom you know with almost perfect certainty aren't here. these figments may recreate unhappy memories or force trespassers to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Nothing is as it seems in the void, and when you swing at these figments, desperate to silence them, it might not be a figment at all, but a friend in the flesh trying to help you. By the time you see their true face, it could be too late to stop yourself.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try fighting a monster, hallucinating your worst nightmares, and/or attacking a friend or stranger!
HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US
Uh oh spaghetti-os.
The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.
Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.
Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.
The baker, Nile Yoren, is a likable, middle-aged woman who can fill any request — wheat, rye, even nut breads. She boasts that her sourdough starter belonged to her grandmother. Today, when you enter her shop — to help out or to get a muffin or a bag of rolls — something is off. Her smiling face isn't behind the counter.
Around the back wall, you hear the crackling of the oven. But when you call, she doesn't come out. You have to go back and look for her. What you find is not just the oven crackling, but nile herself — twisted into an incandescent monster of human flame, the flickers of dark orange light like a face howling in agony amidst the yellows and reds and whites. Before you can scramble away, the creature lunges at you. Defend yourself or flee, or her inner beast will be feeding itself on you.
(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)
The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.
Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.
Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.
someone else transforms
The baker, Nile Yoren, is a likable, middle-aged woman who can fill any request — wheat, rye, even nut breads. She boasts that her sourdough starter belonged to her grandmother. Today, when you enter her shop — to help out or to get a muffin or a bag of rolls — something is off. Her smiling face isn't behind the counter. Around the back wall, you hear the crackling of the oven. But when you call, she doesn't come out. You have to go back and look for her. What you find is not just the oven crackling, but nile herself — twisted into an incandescent monster of human flame, the flickers of dark orange light like a face howling in agony amidst the yellows and reds and whites. Before you can scramble away, the creature lunges at you. Defend yourself or flee, or her inner beast will be feeding itself on you.
(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)
you waited too long
At first, as you hide yourself from your darker impulses, a subtle itch develops under your skin. An irritability that makes you snap at the person who bumps into you on the stairs because all those fleeting emotions that you've been repressing bubble to the surface. Every dark thought you've had about being here, all the fears of never getting home, of being surrounded by ticking time bombs, the anxiety of wondering who you might hurt or what relationships you might betray by doing what you have to do. The anger. Oh, the anger.
Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.
As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.
As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
no subject
his pinky hooks in the collar of his shirt, pulling it back for a peek inside at the lovely, strong planes of his back. his unmarked skin, as if danny hadn't mercilessly railed him into a brick wall not so long ago.
huh. )
Why would you do that? ( oh, he knows why, or at least the why he's angling for people to think. he's seen john schmoozing plenty around the city. that's a nice young man. he lifts his pinky, allowing john's collar to drop. )
no subject
You're new, I know. But people share stuff here. Help each other out.
[ He's watching the point of his own knife, tasting the power in the threat of it. Not that he needed a blade to slit Danny's throat in the alley. ]
Plus you're cute. When you're not mouthing off.
no subject
unhurriedly, ) This doesn't really feel like you helping, no offense.
( this feels like taking. )
no subject
I mean, no worries, if you're not into it, you're not into it.
[ The blade, the head games, the threat, the help. He has the air of a man who's been deeply disappointed but is trying to be cavalier about it. ]
no subject
I didn't say I wasn't into it.
( his fingertips graze john's as he takes the knife and flips it from hilt to blade, the unfamiliar weight tested in a single roll through his palm. airy, lighter than stainless steel, but the edges honed to cutting, razor mean. bone? )
But I already know what'll happen if you stick that shit into me. ( glorious pain. glorious death, repeat ad infinitum. he taps the bevel flush to john's collar and flicks the tip beneath the fabric, shimmying over his throat to kiss his pulse. ) What happens if I stick it into you?
no subject
Right there? Carotid artery? Big blood spray. I'd probably scream, unless you cut my vocal chords. Go into shock.
[ There's a bored lilt to his voice. ]
Also, you'd lose the knife and the offer for round two with my cunt. Choices, hey?
no subject
his hand stays stock-still near john's throat until he drops it, hooks the knife into his beltloop. )
It's Danny.
no subject
[ He's aware the kid might still stab him, but doesn't let that hold him back from clapping him on the shoulder in easy mateship, squeezing there. (A little burst of dopamine in the kidneys at his touch, flushing slow through Danny's system in positive reinforcement.) ]
I'd be careful who else you point that at. Everyone here's a shit day from turning into something that will rip your throat out, and nobody stays dead.
cw: pretty blasé inner dialogue refs to suicide/self-harm
Yeah, totally, ( he agrees, easy and doe-eyed innocent, like that isn't an enthusiastic incentive to test the truth of that statement later, maybe with john's knife in his own carotid artery. does john know how many throat slits it takes to get to the center of a steady hand and a brain that won't abort the action mid-slice? around one hundred, about ninety-nine more than it takes to do it to someone else. danny thinks he might know. danny thinks he's hiding the whole universe in his fucking eyes. ) Because what kind of fucked up place doesn't let their dead stay dead?
( that's, like, soooo wild.
miraculously, any lingering disappointment still kicking as a result of john not tightening that knife up against his balls and showing him what's what is pulped away under his squeezing hand. he's got nice hands. nicer face, in the midday light. nicer dick, possibly. danny flits a pointed look from his mouth to his crotch. )
You still want a blowie?
no subject
[ His other hand lifting to brush a thumb like a kiss across Danny's lower lip, smiling again. ]
Though I'm not picky.
[ He is, as established, a slut — and he doesn't really have any hard limits. Part of what's drawn him back to Danny is how easily he'd accepted being torn open during sex, like he'd be down if John wanted to cut a hole in him and fuck it. That he's a cocky prick doesn't mitigate the obscene appeal of someone so young and so comfortable with violence. John wants to take him home and give him godlike powers and a world to rule. It's that kind of perversion.
But of course, they're still circling each other, figuring out how to bare their throats safely. He gets that, just as he understands that the cruellest thing he can do is touch Danny's face so softly like this, run hands down his neck to his torso to his hips with a touch like he's beautiful and precious. Courting danger. ]
Didn't get to see much of you last time.
[ An instructive tug at the waistband, implicit command behind the suggestion: strip. ]
no subject
there are other cunts, there are other knives, there are other — gods, there are so many fucking gods, and danny only has so many knees. )
Does this mean I get a second round with your cunt after all?
( talking to talk, because he's going to bite him or fuck him or slice him open belly to balls and gild him in blood if he doesn't cool the boiling in his guts to a low simmer. he strips — boots first, deftly unlaced — and leaves his clothes in an orderly pile on the bed, also methodically made, in tight hospital corners and creaseless edges. his daddy taught him that, too. rack straight, spine like an arrow as he stands in front of john and waits for yet another appraisal, but for all the obscenities this body has endured and inflicted in return he is shockingly clear-skinned. danny can count his scars ( these scars ) on one hand.
prodding again: ) Now you, John.
no subject
At least this time his touching has clear intent behind it. A lewd weight when his fingers span Danny's waist, when he palms a hipbone. Stringing it out just to really emphasize when he slaps the back of his hand over Danny's abdomen (this car can fit so many daddy issues in it) and: ]
On the bed.
[ Nowhe's getting to his own clothes, losing them unselfconsciously. Bundling them up into his yoga and leaving them by the door, like he might need a quick escape. The only thing he leaves on is a little bracelet, black and white beads to match his impossible eyes. ]
cw: self-harm
his eyes are steady on john, mannequin empty like his face. yeah, he was right. that shit is sharp. that'll do, pig. )
You remind me of someone.
( he reminds him of several someones. )
cw: guro (potentially ongoing)
[ John remains completely unfazed by the blood, the presence of a knife. Comes and takes an easy, agile knee at Danny's feet. The knee, Danny, really? Deeply unerotic.
Though if he puts his hand over Danny's hand (his fingers long and elegant, the touch light and guiding) that knife can slide upwards, slice sharp and sweet up the line of Danny's thigh. John's careful not to hit anything important, encouraging the cut to be whisper shallow as they pass the artery, deeper when there's more meat, those void-eyes fascinated by the way blood beads up and runs in rivulets. Cutting as far and as much as Danny allows. ]
no subject
it wasn't a bluff. or maybe it was, a little. he wanted john to do that trick again, the one from the alley, the one where he pulls his invisible knife from the black hat of his eyes and raws danny open a second time, just to make sure it was real. maybe there was no knife the first time, but there is one now. maybe danny is more magician's rabbit than wolf, as his knee twitches wider, away from the blade's hungry edge, then squeezes back in until it spills ribbons of blood from his meat. watch him disappear. watch him come back.
he nearly shovels into the artery anyway, because john doesn't want him to. the injury is too gradual, fucked into his thigh like a lazy morning indulgence, to trigger a rush of adrenaline to stopper the pain. the blade gnaws into flexing muscle, stutters and stops high on his inner thigh, closest to his flushed hard cock. danny lets john have the knife, but only to plunge his thumb into the blood-slippery opening he created. )
But. ( but, but. what was he saying? he stares at john through a shattered kaleidoscope of tears. his body learned to take a lot without flinching, but it betrays him in other ways, like this. his free hand fists into john's hair at his nape, muffling his shaking. ) I think you're the prettier fuck.
no subject
[ John looks up at him, apparently quite chuffed by that, and then down to where Danny is pressing intimate into his own meat, blood welling up dark around his thumb, streaking red over the skin.
John pulls the knife out, presses his tongue to the blade, their blood mingling as he licks up it slow and erotic, lots of eye contact, wanting Danny imagining his cock getting the same loving treatment. He's no vampire, not animaphiliac, but there's a lot of thanergic energy in blood. The thing is, John's been feeling powerless lately, cut off from Alecto and caught up in watching his new friends torture themselves and each other with every new transformation. The way Danny looks at him with his eyes all wet and his cock all hard is fucking restorative, and not just in the energy sense. He feels enervated in a way he will never analyse.
The sliced tongue is already healing, but John's mouth is still stained red when he pushes up to clash into Danny's mouth, letting him taste himself. Kiss follows bloody kiss, and now his knee is on the bed, and now his cock is on Danny's thigh, and now the knife is at Danny's throat to keep him good and still as John slides himself along that open wound, shivering at the sticky warmth of the blood. ]
Fuck that's nice. You're a good boy, really.
[ A little impertinent, but so filthy-slutty it's forgivable. ]
no subject
later. later. he wants to watch, but john's knife keeps his head tilted back, throat bared for the teeth of the blade. there's a flicker of panic, an irrational sense that all the filthy rot that makes him him is being drained onto the bed and floor, and he thinks about squeegeeing the blood from the blankets and scooping it back into his insides where it belongs. it has to stay there, it has to — )
I'd let you cum in my guts. ( oh fuck. he really would. his cunt wet guts, stripe his kidneys in it, balloon his lungs with it like air. good boys wouldn't do that. his hips squirm, thigh spasming under the steady slide of john's cock. danny grinds his thumb in deeper and sobs raggedly when john's cockhead snags in the little pocket of dented skin, anointing himself in a well of blood. his chest shudders, his animal pulse ratchets. ) Fuck. I'd let you, I'd —
( he inches into the knife, to try and get his mouth back on john's mouth, silence his hysteria-fueled babbling. )
no subject
I bet you're so fucking warm and tight inside, hey?
[ A blood-smeared hand touches his abdomen, feeling for a good spot, maybe just above the hip, somewhere comfortable to ride into him but unlikely to damage any major organs. ]
Right here. Could make you a little cunt just for me.
[ Turnabout is fair play, he figures, on that kind of derision. ]
Could even make it feel good.
[ Cluster nerve endings together, put them under a spongy mass, automatic erogenous zone. Plus it's already easy to make each touch resonate elsewhere — when he pushes his cock further into Danny's thigh he lets him feel it in his prostate, a warm wash of pleasure that will feel confusingly like getting fucked. ]
no subject
or that might be whatever black magic john is doing now, as he plays giddy-up with his thigh and rides his dick into his gored meat. )
God — Jesus, John, fuck, what the fuck, whatthefuck —
( — is that, what the fuck is that. he chances a blurry look down anyway, past the knife at his throat to where he's speared open the spluttering angry gash in his leg for john's cock like a good little porno slut. the entity pieced him apart plenty for his irreverence, wrapped him twofold in his own intestines and fucked his brains senseless with her white noise voice, her indecipherable bat kol. this is different. this is too much and not enough. he's one big gaping vacuum that needs to be filled, the laws of physics fucking demand it. no open vacancy stays vacant forever.
his thigh flexes as he unplugs his thumb from the hole john's fucking. he touches his pretty cock, slicked in blood like a fucking murder weapon, then his hip, then grips john by the ass and anchors him into danny's empty space. )
Put it in. ( up, up, closer, get in his lap, sit on his thighs slippery as rainy pavement, a rose-red throne just for john. his eyes are shiny wet, his throat hitches on every inhale-exhale, but he's steady when he makes his demands. ) Put your dick in me. Cum in me. I want you to fucking cum in me. ( he remembers the alleyway, john only butchering him when danny said, tremulously — ) Please. Please.
no subject
Except Danny wasn't born into worship, Danny doesn't know what he is, Danny is a wild viper in his cupped hands. No desperate Second House necromancer trying to lay down their life for him has ever said anything half so interesting as Cum in me.
John finally allows him the respite of a kiss, or maybe is just offering him a place to scream when the skin of his abdomen indents and parts. Cronenberg eat your heart out; John makes himself a sweet little pocket of meat and the satiny outer sac of the intestine near the appendix, rings the muscle a little so it can tighten, his brow pinched as he concentrates on his Good Work.
He could just cut, of course, a jagged incision, but he likes the idea of making Danny come from this, so he's rewiring a few things to make it an erogenous zone, makes sure it feels shivery good when he tests it with a finger slipping in, and then presses his hips inevitably forward.
There's blood everywhere; the head of his cock snags on the edge and he pauses before he loses himself to this to make sure Danny isn't about to pass out, drawing back from the kiss to check his pupils, his pallor. Doesn't heal his thigh, but pinches off some bleeding without looking. ]
You feeling all right, honey? Not gonna pussy out on me?
[ There's genuine concern in his voice, jesus fucking christ. ]
no subject
he disappears, up in the oxygen-thin stratosphere of his mind. he comes back, and john is in his face, his dick on his brand new, tailor-made hole, asking him if he's okay. amazing that he can even feel frothing resentment at that question when he's so strung out, buzzed up on adrenaline. )
Fuck — ( you, fuck off, you don't fucking know what i can take. his throat quivers as he swallows, licks a fat teardrop from his swollen bottom lip. the hand painting marks over john's firm cheek digs in harder, seats him more firmly across danny's thighs and lap, before he cants his hips and ruts his cock against john's leg, slicks firm along the underside of his ass. ) Fuck me up.
( he wants to feel it. he wants to see it. two bloody fingers stroke past john's hovering cockhead, knuckling deep into the wet slit in his abdomen he's created for fucking and filling. danny fingers it like a cunt. it almost feels like one if he closes his eyes. )
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So good. So tight.
[ Barely aware of what he's saying, praise and filth falling out of his mouth all unfocused as he eases his cock into this tight channel. It's not even meant to be derogatory, just a thing to say, as he clutches as Danny and rolls his hips, giving him exactly what he asked for.
Danny is crying, blood and tears smearing everywhere between them. John has a free hand now, albeit a gory one, and he swipes a stripe of blood over Danny's cheek to brush them away. Just like those neck kisses in the alley, he's incapable of simply being brutally vile, needs to pepper it with affection, validation, even as his dick sinks into Danny's guts completely literally and starts to thrust selfishly. ]
cw: internalized homophobia
no, no, wait. that's not right. this is an unmaking, not a fucking rebirth. john's cockhead fucks up against something new and tight, setting the gasoline pipeline of his bloodstream on fire, and his body clenches with it. sucks john deeper, like a mouth, like a throat, like a void, like it wants him to stay. )
Ffffffuck, fuck, fuck. ( danny's next wild buck off the mattress' blood-soaked edge sends his pulsing dick into john's thighs, and john himself seesawing violently in his lap, his fat dick and danny's fingers plugging his meat swollen. he can't hear his own slutty little declawed kitten mewls over the sound of his earsplitting heartbeat, staccato cries slightly offset with john's thrusts, belated echoes clapped out of him by force. ) I'm gonna — I'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me cum, please, pleaseplease.
( don't stop, keep going. please fuck him until his teeth rattle, until there's no more space left in his brain to think and no more space left in his guts for anything but his cock. he grips john's hip and then slides his palm up, climbing the bony ladder of his spine. he knows which sweet spot between the vertebrae to plant a knife and paralyze a man all the way down to his dick and tippy toes, here, higher up on the spinal cord. danny cups his hand over john's nape and sinks his teeth into his throat instead, right on his pulse. )
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Each thrust is a violent sweetness, and his initial careful rocking is jostled into something harder and then he picks up the pace, obscene wet rhythmic noises underscoring both their pleasured grunts, the slap of bloodied skin. John angles his hips so the thick weight of Danny's cock is sliding up his inner thigh to brush alongside his balls, rides it down on the outstroke, wanting to feel his cum all over his thighs and ass again. ]
Yeah, come for me, I want it.
[ A heady murmur, pressing himself deep and rubbing there against the little bundle of nerves, barely a thrust, just a steady bump of pressure. These slick and virginal entrails that are his now, just like all of Danny's pathetic fragile flesh body is his, anointed with tears and blood and semen.
John is keeping certain logistics at the back of his mind, which is why without warning he pops his cock back out of that tight hole made just for him, fists his blood-slick cock, and paints streaks over Danny's cum-gutters, shuddering through the brief mindless euphoria of orgasm. It's going to be difficult enough to get all this blood back inside where it belongs without the additional headache of filtering his genetic material out of Danny's guts. ]
cw: (unsuccessful) suicide/self-harm attempt
he'll bleed out in short order, the natural order of things. he'll come back in short order, the unnatural order of things. unless — )
Don't, don't. ( he rolls john off his lap, dumping him wholesale onto the mattress as he gropes past him for the knife and flicks it grip-first into his palm. he's gonna do that shit again, make it all disappear the way he had in the alley, now you see it, now you don't. another butchering where danny isn't allowed to retain the evidence of his suffering, as if it never fucking happened. how is he supposed to tell what's real if he has nothing to show for it? how is he supposed to jack his dick to the memory of this later without a scar to covet and touch?
danny's eyes are wild and bloodshot, his face tacked in blood and tearstains, as he stares at john. what would happen if he drove this knife into his neck? would he really scream? he untangles his body from john's sprawled on the bed, stumbles sluggishly several steps away, and pins the knife-tip to his own throat.
faintly, around a swollen tongue: ) I need to know.
( is he still hers? will she still come for him? the blade skips over his pulse, then vertigo and blood loss rise to greet him, fashionably late. then the floor rises to greet his face. he blinks out, like a light, somewhere dreamless and warm. )
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